


The Morning After

by thisonefeelslikeaflower



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonefeelslikeaflower/pseuds/thisonefeelslikeaflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joker wakes up to a surprise the morning after Shepard throws a party for her past and present crew members (Citadel DLC).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

Joker woke up feeling as if he had died. His head was throbbing, his bones felt as if they had all been broken and then broken again, and he didn’t even want to think about the way his mouth felt. He hadn’t gone so far as to open his eyes yet, already imagining how painful the Normandy’s artificial “morning” light would be. Without turning his head that was buried deep within the fluff of his pillow, he idly groped for the pills and water bottle he always had set out on the little metal night stand propped up next to his standard military bunk.

Except this wasn’t his cabin, and he wasn’t on the Normandy. Joker didn’t realize that his fingers were curled around the green glass of an empty beer bottle until it was halfway to his face, close enough that the faint smell of alcohol nearly made him nauseous. Dazed, he pushed himself up on his elbow and surveyed the scene before him. Joker faced the corner of a room that was sparsely, but artfully, furnished. A sculpture sat in one corner, one that seemed vaguely turian if he knew shit about art, and some sort of abstract painting done in pastels on the wall. A couple of empty bottles sat on the carpeted floor along with scattered pieces of clothing. Joker blinked. Not all his.

“Ah, shit.”

At the sound of his voice, the figure beside him mumbled in her sleep and shifted. Joker froze and mouthed the same words, but silently. After a few moments of internal cursing, he turned over with as much silence as he could manage to stare at the sleeping form of Commander Shepard. She was curled up and facing him, only her bare shoulders visible from above the too-plush comforter that lay tangled over them both. She had pulled his SR2 baseball cap over her face at some point to block out what light from the Citadel that came through the window that took up the whole wall behind her. His sluggish, hungover blood began to race and his throat tightened as foggy memories from the night before became startlingly clear.

Anderson’s apartment. Shepard had invited the whole gang for a last hoorah before the potential extermination of the human race. And the turian, quarian, asari, and you-name-it other races as well. Knowing that it might be their last chance, they took full advantage of the party atmosphere and threw caution to the wind. Vaguely Joker remembered Jack dancing like some club stripper on the table, Garrus awkwardly but successfully flirting with Tali, and Edi recalling every instance that Traynor had commented on the alluring nature of her voice. He smiled at that.

And then there was Shepard, getting just as drunk and rowdy as everyone else. Perhaps the best thing that had come of it was that it had loosened all the knots and tension that he had seen growing in her over the past few months. He knew about the dreams she had, and the guilt she carried with her. The responsibility. The party and the company of close friends had fixed it all, even if for a night. And then there had been the bit when he had challenged her to a few rounds of shots and, unsurprisingly, lost. Then there was the bit when they had both shown off their almost equally horrendous dance moves, though he prided himself that his brittle bones could move better than hers in that regard, if not by much. The last memories were more vague, but also more colorful. He remembered sitting on the couch for a number of hours after the others had passed out, only talking. Then as they usually did, hands wandered and talk turned to kissing, and their impatience had taken them to the bedroom. The bedroom bit, however, had been a first. Remembering that, Joker pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and let out a sigh through pursed lips. He struggled suddenly to distract himself, and the pain that came with standing up was certainly a suitable excuse. He winced as the bed creaked with the loss of his weight.

“Joker?”

Oh, hell.

“Yeah, Commander?”

He turned, one hand braced on the frame of the bed, the other on his boxer-clad thigh. Damn, where was his medication? He straightened after a moment, focusing on that instead of her shit-eating grin. She knew he didn’t appreciate it when she acknowledged his handicap, so she was looking over it. The rest of his body, however?  There was no doubt that her amused expression was due to awkward position, single socked foot, incurable bedhead, and galaxy-themed boxers. In the back of his mind he whined internally about them having been a gift.

“’Commander?’ In _this_ context?”

The insufferable woman had his hat on now, covering the majority of her messy, shoulder-length brown hair. Her head was propped on one elbow while her other hand had come to rest in a teasingly seductive manner on her hip. The comforter covered most of the important bits of her chest, though it threated to fall and reveal the danger zone. He swallowed and immediately grinned helplessly afterward.

“Yeah, uh. Sorry about that Com—Shep. Laura.”

“Don’t worry about it. Joker. Jeff.” Her tone was still teasing, though her eyes were surprisingly gentle. So the tension hadn’t returned. Not this early, not yet. “Are you going somewhere?”

Joker paused awkwardly, his legs screaming about how if he didn’t collapse immediately back onto the bed he would soon be sprawled out on the floor. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He sat back down on the bed, hard, and propped up pillows behind his back before sinking down into the fluff. For a few moments he pondered, his gaze shifting in between Shepard and the stupid turian art piece in the corner of the room. After some time he let out a short bark of a laugh, as if in surprise. “Wow.”

“Wow?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve woken up next to someone? Since I’ve _been_ with a woman?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Joker scoffed. “Good try, Shep, but you’re not gonna make me blush.” He was smiling while he said it, though. But it faded quickly. He suddenly remembered the headache that pounded at his temples. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.” Absently he reached up to scratch at his short hair, eyes squinting a bit.

“And why not?” she returned. Shepard had pushed herself out of bed and was throwing on the T-shirt with the logo of a local hanar band that she had worn the night before. He remembered when she had first bought it, as a joke, and had grown fond of it since. He fought to keep his face serious as she came back to sit next to him clad now in the shirt and sweatpants.

“You’re my, well—. You know. Protocol and shit.”

“And since when have you been one to give any fucks about protocol? When have the Reapers given any fucks about protocol?”

“Hell, Shep, you’ve already got so much going on right now, and—I’m not—“

“You’re not what, Jeff? Good enough? A distraction?”

Joker swallowed and suddenly found himself incapable of speaking. Shepard stared at him with her intense blue eyes, eyes that could be ice as easily as they could be the calm of Earth’s skies. At this moment they seemed stormy, and some of the lines he had become used to ever since the invasion had returned. He frowned and his eyebrows knotted in the middle of his forehead. She went on.

“If this isn’t where you saw this going, and you want this to be a onetime thing, I’ll leave now and we don’t have to speak about it again. But I feel like I’ve been lead to believe otherwise.”

As usual, she was leaving the ball in his court. Shepard had always been like that. She was brutally honest and always forward in all things, but never pushy. Never one to purposefully make others uncomfortable. But she made her intentions known. He remembered her when she had practically thrown him into the last of the escape pods, only to be thrown off of the burning Normandy SR1 entirely moments before he shot off into safety. There were also the times when she had kept him company in the cockpit, going back and forth with stories or snarky jokes to pass the time, her head sometimes lolling and coming to rest on the arm of his chair as she slept. The video games where he unsurprisingly came out on top every time. And then there had been the time after Thessia, when he snapped and her hard shell had finally broken, and she told him of the war, her dreams, her missing mother, and of Hilary. That time she had fallen asleep in his arms, both of them having sought comfort in each other.

Shepard was leaving herself wide open. What with the assault on Cerberus a week away, and then who knew what afterwards, this wasn’t the time to be cautious. He knew that if he didn’t make some sort of move here, she would close herself off again, feeling as if she were taking all of the galaxy’s responsibility as her own. She would be true to her word, and she would never seek him out or mention such things again.

With some difficulty, Joker slung an arm around her shoulders and brought her in close. He moved his other arm around as if to wrap her in a full hug, and in one fluid motion, snatched his hat from her head and replaced in its rightful spot, on his. “If the galaxy’s going to hell, there’s no one else I’d rather go down with.”

Playfully, she slapped at his bearded cheek. “Don’t talk like that. But, regardless, I agree. I knew you’d come around.” Suddenly she pushed herself upwards and met his lips with hers. Dumbly, somewhere in the back of his head, Joker wondered how he had gotten so lucky.

 


End file.
